


Being James

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-06
Updated: 2007-06-06
Packaged: 2019-01-19 20:35:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12417675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: Young Peter wants something that James has--but what? Love? Sex? Oh, if only it were so simple...





	Being James

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

<b>DISCLAIMER</b>: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made, and no trademark or copyright infringement is intended.  


*** 

Despite what Sirius thinks--and Sirius has, on numerous occasions, made his opinion appallingly clear both to the other two and to the entire school --he does _not_ fancy James.

If he were taller and stronger, or if Sirius were less muscular, he'd drive Sirius's teeth down his throat for suggesting such a thing. But he is short and chubby, and any punches he threw would be seen not only as ineffectual but funny. It's bad enough being seen as a shirt-lifter without being seen as a weak and overly emotional one as well.

Sirius doesn't understand. He doesn't want to fuck James, or to be fucked by him.

Peter wants to **be** James.

For James has everything. _Is_ everything. He is tall and lean, not short and plump. At sixteen, James has hair is dark and thick and fashionably untidy, not pale and lifeless and prematurely thinning, like Peter's. He moves with unconscious grace, never stumbling or tripping over the hem of his jumble-sale robes. Peter looks shapeless, even blobby, in **his** robes; James wears his with an air that says no sane person would ever consider wearing anything else.

Most important, James exudes confidence. Peter cannot imagine him fearing anything, much less doubting himself. And the confidence permeates everything he does, whether it's answering questions in class or flying or asking out girls.

Peter cannot imagine the luxury of a day in which he would not have to mentally brace himself against mocking laughter and pitying smiles. He does not, in truth, believe that such a day will ever arrive.

But oh, how he covets it. The longing etches his soul like corrosive acid.

Sirius does not understand, for Sirius has no empathy. Sirius's dramas must always be the most tragic or the most flamboyant; Sirius's accomplishments must always be the most outstanding. And if Sirius cannot make himself sufficiently impressive, he makes the people around him littler.

Sirius cuts him to pieces a thousand times a day. The innocently upraised eyebrow that calls his intelligence into question. Every time he stumbles over an Astronomy problem, Sirius has to comment on his ineptitude: _"Merlin's beard, I knew **that** when I was eight years old!"_ Every ointment or salve that he brews is denigrated _\--"N.E.W.T.s Potions can't be too hard if Peter and Snivellus can manage it"_ \--and never mind that he's one of the best Potions students in his year. Every single time that Sirius laughs when he blushes or stammers when talking to a girl, or jeers at his nervousness, or calls him by that cruel, vicious, hated nickname of "Wormtail," he feels as if the other boy has taken an axe and chopped off both his legs.

At times he hates Sirius so much that he can taste the sour sickness of it in his mouth.

The truly maddening part is that Sirius wouldn't understand why he was upset even if he spelled it out. "It's only a _joke_ , Peter," he would drawl with infuriating patience. "You have to stop taking things so _seriously_."

_If I were like James_ , he thinks, _everything would be all right_. Sirius, he knows, would never hurt James.

Sometimes he dreams about waking up and discovering that he's a rich pureblood, like James and Sirius, not the late-in-life son of a Muggle janitress-turned-baker. He fantasises about getting properly fat on seven-course meals instead of the stomach-filling but starchy bread-potatoes-and-pasta dishes he still gets at home on his vacations. He speculates about being able to go to Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade and buy anything he wants, no matter what it costs.

He cannot really sympathise with Sirius. Yes, the Blacks are cold, unloving bigots. What of it? Sirius has never had to fill up on water for two days because Mr and Mrs Black had to choose between paying the rent and eating. Sirius has never worn shoes too small for his feet because it was winter, and he had to endure the crippling pain or go barefoot on the ice and snow. Sirius's parents did not regard their small son's magic as a sign of innate corruption, or drag him off to assorted priests, shamans and religious charlatans to be prayed over, exorcised and purified. Sirius's mother does not hate her son for being a wizard, or regard him as a freak. Sirius, Peter reflects, has it easy.

He doesn't talk about it, though. Somehow, the stories that sound like heroic sagas when Sirius tells them sound whiny and self-pitying when he relates them. It's not worth the trouble.

If he were like James, it would be different. He would be the much-fussed-over only son, not the caboose child neither parent wanted. He would be strong and athletic. His home would belong to the family, not to the landlord. He would never worry about not having enough of anything. He would be happy and warm and safe. He would not know what fear was.

And he would be loved.

Even Sirius would envy him.

Of course, most of this is impossible. He cannot eradicate his family's money troubles. He cannot purify his bloodlines. He cannot transform his widowed mother into an affectionate woman who is deeply enthusiastic about her son's magical powers.

But he does think that somehow things would be better if he were like James. James, who is never worried or frightened. James, who never doubts himself, or others.

So he tries--oh, how he tries--to be James. He mimics James's walk and struggles to adopt James's sense of humour and performs tasks that terrify him because James fears nothing. He does everything James does and everything James asks, and strains to drown the inner voice loudly proclaiming _this isn't working_ , because he doesn't know what else to do.

Surely, surely somehow he can catch--as one catches a cold--the confidence that James possesses in such abundance. Surely someday it will take, and he will finally stop being Peter, the underestimated, the also-ran, the butt of every joke and be transfigured into James, the brilliant, the confident, the perfect one.

Someday, he vows, he will be the unexpectedly clever one. The fearless one. The hero. His mother will respect him as a good, brave man. His friends will grieve that they did not appreciate his courage. Maybe there will even be a girl, a pretty one who's also kind and loving--both girlfriend and trophy.

But until then, he must keep on fighting, smiling at the patient glances that bludgeon him like cudgels and laughing at the cruel jests that slice through his heart like scalpels. 


End file.
